Memento Immori
by deepthoughtz
Summary: They abducted his wife. They murdered his daughter, along with him. He isn't sure how much of him had survived the Killing Curse this time... And now he must find her, for his time is running out. Occurs after the Epilogue of Deathly Hallows. Harry/Ginny.
1. As The Wizard Lay Dying

**Memento Immori**

* * *

_**Summary:**_ _They abducted his wife. They murdered his daughter, and he was pretty sure that they had killed him along with her. But he had had practice at dying, and he survived. Only he isn't sure how much of him really had._

_And now he must find her, because time for both of them is running out..._

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

** As the Wizard Lay Dying**

* * *

_"Death comes but once, and nails you right between the eyes."_

He lay dying, his life a thread of consciousness groping for hope in the sleeping dark. Blood and breath were fading echoes, remembered sensations growing fainter moment to moment. It was a battle to be lost, hopeless inevitability that tried to drag his mind down to the black abyss of unlife.

He did not wish to die.

It was a war between nature and will, time and mind. Death and life. It was a battle that could have had only one conclusion.

He. Did. Not. Wish. To. Die.

It was not a beast's inclination to life that fueled him. Power, guided as he had never dared guide it in life, lent him the strength. Born of furious desperation, born of inheritance the might came to him as the air began to still in his lungs. He resisted.

It was not a question of power, Death answered. It was never a question of power. He knew it, had known it, had forgotten it. Had buried the dangerous knowledge beneath the life he had built around him, with time and toil and careful patience.

That life was dead. Destroyed. Vanished in the blink of an eye as if it had never been, a hollow illusion, a conjurer's trick of the light.

Fury. Fire lifted his consciousness, demanding justice, demanding punishment. Demanding treachery's repayment, to be paid in righteous full.

Useless. Revenge was not the answer. Vengeance was not the way back.

The sands trickled by, a whispering buzz in his ears that he refused to decipher.

* * *

_"Men have died from time to time, and the worms have eaten 'em, but not for love." _

_ -_ _ William Shakespeare_

"So he finally went to school." He sighed, stretching on the armchair. She smiled at him, waving a wand to rearrange the books that lay on the table.

"Who would've thought?" A flick of her wand sent the pile sailing to the bookshelf. "I couldn't believe it when Al finally got his letter, and I have been counting the years for so long I can't remember."

"I wasn't." He pointed out smugly. "I talked to Minerva some days ago about it. She told me they were sending owls early this year."

"And you didn't want to tell me?" She put her hand to her hips, and he would've been more concerned about her tone if he hadn't known her joking moods better – and if the hips hadn't looked so nice. Quite inviting. But Lily was home, he reminded himself with a mental sigh. And it wasn't nearly bedtime yet.

"I didn't want to spoil the surprise." He defended himself. "You looked funny when the owl landed on the breakfast table."

"I thought maybe there'd been a problem and they wanted you to know." She frowned. "I was worried that there'd been something wrong with Al's invitation."

"Well, he certainly was excited to get it," He said. "Lily seemed a little jealous though."

"Of course she was." The curtain spread itself across the living-room window as she gestured with her wand. "Two older brothers going to Hogwarts, and Rose too. She wants to start school with them, not sit at home and feel left out."

"I remember someone who was that way once." He said mischievously. "I saw you on the platform in our first year, you know. You were crying to Molly and shouting how you wanted to go to Hogwarts - "

"You try being raised with six elder brothers," She shot back, though he thought he could see a faint blush blooming in her cheeks. "Seriously not funny, being alone at the house when they went off adventuring to Hogwarts. I know how Lily feels. She's very close to Al and Rose, and now they're both gone -"

"Well, her turn is going to come soon enough," He rose, letting a little sigh escape. "They seem to grow up so _fast_." She came forward and hugged him, and life was simple again for a moment. Simple and free and good.

"Lily is home," She whispered furiously as his hands started to take liberties. He kissed her neck, and the faint taste of strawberry was as good as it had been the first time. He shaped her hips with his hands, her body like life and searing fire under his palm, living and warm and home. Well-known, well-traveled, and loved. She smiled, and he knew it even with his eyes closed. Her breath hitched, and the desire roared in his ears.

"Harry, stop… stop. She's just in the next room." She was whispering sense, and he wanted no part of it. Still he let her go, the aftertouch of her breasts still a lingering shiver in his palms. The tension that had gathered in him relaxed. He kissed her in the cheek, breathing in her scent.

"You haven't been like that for… so long," She was breathing fast.

"Work." He sighed again. "Too much work. Maybe I should take a vacation."

"Maybe you should." She leaned and gave him a quick kiss. "All this work isn't good for your health. Look at Ron, he doesn't work nearly as hard as you do."

"Ron isn't the one saddled with the job of being the Head of the Auror Department." He smiled. "Maybe I'll take some leave. I'm owed some, I'm sure."

"We can go meet mum," She said. "She hasn't been the same since dad…"

"Yeah, we will." He said somewhat neutrally. "And then, I was thinking, a week on the beach."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "But what about Lily?"

"Andromeda can take care of her for one week," He replied. "She always offers, and you always say no. Do you want a week in the sun? I'm thinking maybe Australia."

"One week in the sun? That's all you're planning?" Her eyes twinkled, warm brown, familiar, loved and cherished.

"I pledge to be a perfect gentleman." He grinned.

"I'd rather you aren't." She grinned back. "But I'm not sure about leaving Lily alone at a time like this…"

"You know she'd love it," He coaxed her. "She loves spending time with her. Come on, just think about the sun, away from all this rain and mist."

"Well -" She was interrupted halfway as the sound of tinkling glass came through the door. They looked around, and then she gave an exasperated sigh. "Lily's been having more of these bursts lately. She set the rug on fire yesterday, you know? It was a godawful mess."

"She's talented, that's all. Like her mother." He laughed. "Go and see what she broke this time, will you?"

"I'm sure she inherited this from you," She said as she went out to the corridor. "Don't tell me you never did any accidental magic yourself. You set a cobra on him, Dudley says."

He didn't say anything for a moment, then tried to reply in a low voice. "It was a Boa Constrictor, actually -" But she was already gone. He sighed and looked at the table, now neat and tidy. The memories tried to flood back, and he denied them with the ruthless efficiency that comes out of practice.

More sounds. Glass tinkling, shattering. Something alerted him, something told him something he didn't want to hear.

Danger. Danger, somewhere. Nearby.

_She had gone to see what was wrong_

And he was running, sudden, flat-out.

He didn't reach them in time.

* * *

_"We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love."_

Her throat was cut, a precision stroke he recognized as professional. His mind was numb for a moment, refusing to understand.

He went forward, and took the little body in his arms. Blood pooled, not much but enough. It was cooling already.

Sound. Footsteps. He looked up.

The curse struck, green flames intense and blinding. It struck at his chest, lifting him off the floor with vicious force. His back hit the wall, and he slid to the floor. A misty haze surrounded his vision, and the man came in sight.

The white skullmask grinned at him. He tried to grin back. He couldn't remember – why couldn't he remember – why was he on the floor?

"Sir, he's alive!" Fear was a smell he recognized, but the man didn't need to fear him. "I'm the good guy," He tried to say, as they said in the muggle films. Nothing came out of his throat.

"Really." Another skull, another grin, another stink of fear. Irritating. He tried to breathe, but something wasn't working properly. Air, he needed air. Why was he on the floor? Why couldn't he breathe?

And where was she anyway? Didn't she know that they had guests?

_"Mobillicorpus."_

Don't put a spell like that on my daughter, he tried to shout, could utter nothing. Don't -

Blood spattered on his robes, his Lily (how little she was, fragile) fell in front of him. She wasn't stirring. He tried to sit up, she needed to get to St. Mungo's, these people weren't helping her, his daughter, his -

"You weren't the primary objective, Potter." That second man was saying. "Your wife was. But it was suggested that you'd be a nice addition, if we could kill you." An arrogant shake of the head, rude and brave. He didn't like the man's tone, disparagingly bland. He tried harder to understand what the man was blathering about. It might be important. "As if you were going to be trouble. You're nothing special, Potter. Nothing special. Just a bit lucky, and with a high reputation. But I've beaten Felix Felicis in my time, and I never did care for people who get reputations they don't deserve." The wand touched his hair, cutting a lock that the man collected carefully in a flask. "This will be proof enough."

"He's still alive, sir!" The first voice, with an edge of panic that something in him recognized.

"I daresay that he's had practice," The man snapped back. "Well, Potter, I've had some, what do they say, _inside_ information on your supposed surviving of the killing curse. I highly doubt you're going to survive it twice at once, seeing that -" He looked around for a moment theaterically, "there's nobody around here that you can _sacrifice_ yourself for." He leaned down. "This is the end, Potter. Goodbye. She'd be following you when we're done with her, have no fear on that score." He laughed, harsh and cruel, and everything was beginning to come back to him in a painful flash of understanding -

_"Avada Kedavra!" _

Green. Green fire and darkness that crept in his mind. The patient and terrible darkness that seemed familiar, something he almost could call friend...

"He isn't breathing, sir. He's dead. _Harry Potter is dead._" Disbelief and awe.

"Good. Now let's be gone. She needs to be delivered as soon as possible." The clipped tones of a man in a hurry. He hated that voice, but the darkness was there already and carrying him forward...

* * *

_"Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me.  
The carriage held just but ourselves,  
And Immortality... " _

_- Emily Dickinson  
_

He was cold, so cold.

Freezing glass, frost, a breeze of ice that was cruising through his veins. He did not, could not force himself to remain any longer. Blackness beckoned, promising eternal sleep. Rest, final and immutable. But he would not. He resisted.

But all his efforts were as nothing. The darkness would not yield. The abyss would not recede.

_I will not die_, he asserted with all the force he could master._ I cannot die! She - my sons -_

Death was cold, merciless. Death did not care for love or revenge. Death would not give him up.

I am your master, he tried. _I am your master! I am the master of the Hallows!_

The knowledge came with that, memories fleeting as quicksilver. It was not a matter of force.

_It had never been a matter of force _

_And he understood._

Yes, he whispered. Yes. _I accept._

People were lifting him up.

"Harry!" He knew that voice. Ron's. "Who - _who did this_?" He was sobbing, full of rage. Harry looked at him, trying to understand where he was.

"Harry?" There were furious tears in Ron's eyes, tears he did not bother to hide or wipe away. "Where is - where is Ginny?"

"They took her, Ron -" The emotions weren't troubling him yet, and that was good. He tried not to look at Lily, lying broken and dead on the floor. Grief would come later, or not at all. He did not have time for grief.

His daughter had deserved better than this.

Ginny was in their hands -

He had to find her, soon. What did the man say - she would follow - they planned to kill her. He suppressed the anger, stilling it, storing it away. It will have its use. Soon.

"Ron." His voice seemed flat and calm, and full of that old authority he desperately tried to capture again. "Go to Hogwarts. They attacked my family -" He broke off, and for a moment emotions tried to unsettle the cold-hot calm he was trying to maintain. "Go see if James and Al are all right. Keep them close. Tell them _nothing_."

"But Harry -"

"Enough!" He hadn't meant to shout, but he must not have been as emotionless as he had thought. Understandable. He checked his shields, pools of fire and darkness that shrouded his thoughts. They were intact, despite the strain that tried to fracture them. "Go and do it. I'll handle this end."

"Yes, Harry." Ron whispered. He went out, and most of the Aurors accompanied him at his nervous gesture. Harry waved off a Healer that tried to come near him, his scowl scattering the remaining hitwizards away like jittery birds. He began to twirl on his feet, then paused. His robes were partially burned, and he found what they all were looking at when he glanced at his bare chest.

Twin lightnings, mirroring each other, fresh and livid red on white skin.

"You survived the Killing Curse again. Twice again." A Trainee he vaguely recognized whispered, her voice tinged with awe. He gave her a sharp glance, and did not feel better when she cringed at his expression.

"You do not survive death, Miss," He snarled, the anger and despair trying to burn its way through to his voice. "You just delay it a little."

And that was the truth he knew, as he twirled on his feet and the apparition tunnel flung him into its dark and crushing depths.

_His time was running out. _

* * *

**Author's Notes:** 1. I do not own, nor do I admit to ever have owning, the Harry Potter universe. They belong to J. K. Rowling (lucky her).  
2. This story is _not_ connected to my other story, _Persistence_. This one grew out of a flashback I'd started to write for that AU universe. This one is pretty canon, and just past the Epilogue of DH.  
3. The billion-dollar question: does just H/G get you more readers or less?  
4. I appreciate reviews. Authors just starting out (scratch that, all authors) always do.


	2. A Scent of Blood

**Memento Immori**

* * *

_**Chapter Two **_

**A Scent of Blood**

* * *

The warehouse looked silent and empty, but he knew that for the facade it had to be.

They walked to the front gate, his power barely at check and thrumming in his hands, begging to be released from his careful control. He could hear the night around him, sound and silence equally loud within its dark embrace. His companion was shifting his feet, and the crunching gravel seemed loud enough to alert anybody present within a mile. He glared, aware that to see it in this dark would be impossible, and made a hushing gesture. He could feel the magic in the house, its wards an itch beneath his skin. Silence he recognised, and Obfuscation. Yet other powers were at play here, a touch of the foreign and the forbidden that might have seemed seductive at moments other than this.

He was not here for power, or curiosity. And he did not need to be reminded.

"Do you think he's inside?" he heard Ron whisper behind him as he twirled his wand in a practiced movement. The magic reached out, invisible tendrils snatching up the sonic energy from the very air in an azure swirl that dimmed its glow at his frown. _"Imbersonitus"_, Ron mimicked him, shading another azure globe from view with the palm of his hand. They looked at the door, closed and locked, and he could feel the crystalline power layered on it, ready to be unleashed in a scream of violence at the slightest touch. He gestured at the azure power waiting at the tip of his wand, and it settled on the door. For a moment it seemed that the door would rattle as multicoloured streaks snaked across its surface, but the mute flashes subsided in a moment. He toed the door open gently, every single squeak from the rusty hinges muted by the spell still, peering inside with eyes eager and red with feverish intent.

Darkness flexed within the house, wide and absolute and far deeper than the night that waited at its door.

They moved in after what seemed a lifetime of tense and breathless waiting, their movements flowing and meshing with the waiting dark with an ease that spoke of practiced stealth.

The ground floor was a wide and empty space, and yet they moved cautiously, expecting a curse or charm to streak forth any moment from under a veil of invisibility or misdirection. Nothing happened, though, and finally they came up against the stairs that led to the first floor.

They moved up the rickety steps, every creaking footstep absorbed by the azure globe that bobbed within the palm of Ron's hand. The silence moved with them, dark and foreboding. He couldn't hear anything when he reached the floor, as he had known he wouldn't, and stepped carefully outside the reach of Ron's curse, waiting for a moment for his ears to adjust. Still no sound greeted his hearing.

This floor was also empty, except for a room at the back that he could dimly perceive in his adjusted vision. They moved slowly towards the door, as he began to mutter in his mind, concentrating on the spell he knew he would have to cast if he needed to capture his quarry.

The door was closed, and he heard the faintest of voices as he carefully pressed his ears against it, wondering yet again if success waited at the other side. The Deluminator in his hands hummed its assent. He moved back, letting Ron have the chance as he readied his energies at the tip of his quivering wand.

Ron took his palm out of the way of the azure power that now flared with white brilliance, letting stark shadows skitter around the dark and silent walls. He let it fly.

_**B O O M**_

The door splintered into little shards as the curse hit, all the uncontrolled energy fracturing it into a thousand fragments and driving them inside the room with ferocious speed.

"_Confuto Apparatum!"_ He shouted, sending a blue wave surging forward in the wake of the destructive curse. The spell stretched in the room, its light reflected from the cracked white walls and illuminating two figures in his vision. He blinked back the tears that came from the sudden light, and dived through the door, Ron directly behind him.

"_Gelictus!"_ A figure replied in kind, the shimmering blue pulse sailing over his head as he retaliated with a silent _Morendo_. The other figure deflected it, his face masked by the white skull he recognised. A snarl came from his throat as he rushed forward to the man, ignoring the blood red slicing curse that went wide to his left. He ignored the hiss of pain behind him. There was only one goal in his vision, one objective, and all his hate and anger almost made him forget why he was where he was.

The air was alive, alive with a scent of blood.

* * *

"No."

He was standing before a group of a dozen people, people he recognized. He blinked to dispel the fuzziness that seemed to have surrounded his vision again. It was becoming irritating. They were all staring at him, and his mind picked out pity and sympathy in their eyes. He tried to orient himself, afraid for a moment that he'd fall.

The room he knew, the smallest of the Aurors' Halls that they used for inter-departmental conferences. He was standing by the centre table, its surface a silvery shimmer that meant there wasn't a conference going on. He squinted, trying to remember.

The memories rushed back, a torrent of pain and misery that threatened to drag him down to his knees.

Trying to regulate his breathing, he looked at Kingsley again. The old Auror had changed a lot from the War days – in his mind if not in appearance, but he was a competent Minister, someone who had worked to protect the society against the scum that infested its dark underside. He knew the rules of the game. He knew how to treat people who spend their lives risking it to save others not capable of saving themselves.

But he had always been the one to follow the law. Always. And if there was one thing Harry knew, it was that the time was running against him. Times like that are not times when you follow every single letter of the law.

Not if you wanted… he killed the thought, erased it. Concentrate on the now. Concentrate. You are the only chance she has…

"You mean that _you_ won't permit it." His voice came out a harsh croak, and everybody in the room flinched back, except Kingsley. Any other time, he would have felt like applauding. Now he found himself considering taking the Minister to a quiet and unobserved corner.

But he couldn't take the chance. Not now, not when every single man against him would be one too many. He knew Shacklebolt had an excellent reputation for courage and skill, and he hadn't had practice at the Imperius for nearly a decade.

It would have to be the zero option.

"You know why, Harry," Kingsley was saying. "I know how it must be for you-"

"Oh, you know, do you?" Play the victim, he thought. Play the distressed, outraged victim. You need him to sympathize. You need him to give that permission. "My daughter is dead. Murdered. My wife is in the killer's hands. We_must_ trace him, Kingsley. We have to get to him before he –" He choked off, letting the emotions surface into his eyes for a moment before suppressing them again, knowing the old Auror would see the grief and heartbreak that still raged in the depths of his heart. See and understand. Please understand. Please, Kingsley. For old times' sake. You would have, when we were still fighting Voldemort. You couldn't have changed that much. Please.

"The law states that any Ritual listed in the Black category must be performed under direct Ministry supervision only, and requires the statutory punishment for the performers to be waived by a direct Ministerial Edict," droned the Minister's Secretary behind him. He turned and gave the man a venomous look, which the old and wrinkled wizard returned with a vaguely affable smile. "Any ritual belonging to the_ Semitacruor_ family," the man gave him a little shrug, "has always been treated as such by the Ministry and by the Dark Magical Law Enforcement in particular."

"I know the facts, thank you, Wentworth." He had never hated the man so much. A damned lackey, jumping at Kingsley's every word to the public eye. But he wasn't the one that suspected that the man had deeper ties within the Ministry, perhaps _under_ it. But this wasn't the time for a confrontation.

"You don't have to issue that Edict, Kingsley," he pleaded to the Minister again. "My Aurors can do it, you know they can. You don't have to send your Ritualists – "

But Kingsley was already looking at his Secretary again, and he knew he wasn't going to win. The old manleaned forward, murmuring in Shacklebolt's ears, and the Mnister straightened, looking at him straight in the eye. He knew what was coming, and tried to ready himself. There was conspiracy here, his senses told him. He needed to appear in control of himself. Any outburst would cost his credibility.

"I'm afraid that I can no longer allow you to command the Auror Corps at this moment, Harry," Kingsley shook his head.

"_What?_" Control, damn you, he cursed himself. Control. Control. But he hadn't seen _this_ coming.

"You have been struck with the Killing Curse again, according to what a Trainee reported. Is that correct?" Most of the people in the room started at this piece of information, the sound of shifting feet masked by the nervous murmurs. Kingsley was playing for the audience, he could see already. They were looking at him now with awe, and fear. He was smelling too much fear tonight.

"As you can see, I survived." He said neutrally. Control. "Is that a problem?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry." Kingsley frowned at him. "Who knows what damage your body has taken from the curse – _curses_," He amended as Wentworth whispered in his ears again, "not to mention your mind. Obviously you're in shock –"

"Are you trying to say that my _judgment_ might be impaired, Minister?" He raised his eyebrows and throttled the rage, keeping it under.

"I'm considering the possibility," the Minister returned, "seeing how you're suggesting performing a Ritual – "

"That'll lead me to the killer!"

"That's been outlawed since there has been laws and wizards to care," Kingsley continued, ignoring him. "You know what price they would have to pay, the casters. Dementia is a distinct possibility for any Ritualist channeling that much Darkness. I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't let good men do that. Not in good conscience."

The tone was final, and he stopped the snarl of _Fuck conscience!_ that threatened to escape. "And?" He asked.

"I think you should take a vacation," Kingsley said. "Be with your kids." He coughed, embarrassedly. "We'll inform you once we find her location. The DMLE has several leads – "

"Leads?" He growled. "Really? And they neglected to inform _me_?"

"You, as an involved party, cannot be conducting the investigation," Kingsley shrugged. "That's the rule, Harry, a rule _you_ enforced quite a number of times. And I can't make you – or let you – continue working in this crisis. I think you should take a little leave and take care of your kids. They'll need you once the news hits the Prophet tomorrow," he said quietly. "We _will_ find her. I promise it. But in your current state – you'll only get in the way."

"I see." He exhaled. "You're relieving me of my duties?"

"On a temporary basis only," Kingsley said kindly. "Go be with James and Al, Harry. Try not to worry too much. From what you said, we can reasonably believe that they need her for some reason – and they in all probability won't harm her right now. We'll get her back soon."

"All right." He sighed, looking desperate and defeated. "But promise me you'll let me know the instant you come up with anything."

"I promise," Kingsley nodded solemnly. He choked the sudden and ferocious urge to rip the man from the inside out with a curse, and nodded back at the lying eyes.

* * *

"I don't think it's such a good idea, Harry," Ron said nervously as they walked up the steps to the gates of the castle. He ignored the comment, instead focusing on his breathing. It seemed difficult, has been becoming more and more so as time passed. He could feel the burning in his chest, a firestorm of pain that only his occlumency kept from overcoming his nerves. He knew what it was, could guess.

You don't survive Death.

You just delay it a little

_ I accept._

He didn't have much time, but it would be enough. Merlin, it would have to be enough.

"Are they all right?" He said suddenly, looking at his friend. Ron looked haggard and spent, and he could guess what he had gone through – Ron had never been much good at controlling himself, much like he had been once. Ron didn't have the discipline he now cherished as his ultimate strength.

"I didn't tell them anything except that there's been trouble," Ron replied in a low voice. "They were anxious, of course, but McGonagall agreed that it's better if they're spared the news a little time. Once Ginny comes back – " the voice cracked, only a little, but he could hear the despair simmering there, despair that mirrored his own. "Once she's back, we can tell them about – about Lily."

"Hermione took them with her?" He asked cautiously. "There wasn't… any trouble?"

"Yeah," Ron coughed, composing himself. "Nothing happened, she flooed home with them all right. I firecalled to check. She's raised the additional wards we set up, too. They're as safe with her as they can be."

"Good." He knocked on the heavy wood. "Good."

"I don't see why I shouldn't have some Aurors stationed there. I didn't though. Minerva gave me the message." Ron looked hurt and bewildered. "You seriously think somebody inside – "

"Later," He ground out as the doors opened. "Minerva."

"Harry. Ronald." She tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed. "Come inside, quick."

They followed her into the Entrance Hall, and up the stairs. He was silent all the way, like his companions. None of them felt like talking. They stopped at the fifth floor.

"So, you want to ask him something?" She asked as the Gargoyle stepped aside at her impatient gesture.

"Yes, Minerva." The office was a stark contrast to what he had seen of it in his school days. The silvery instruments were no longer on the table, and he still missed Fawkes' perch. He had become accustomed to the change though, and even the cat-basket beside the Headmistress' desk now seemed normal enough. But he was intent on the portraits, most of whom were now awake and staring at him. He looked at the one he had come to see.

Sad blue eyes looked back. "Harry," Albus said softly. "Ronald told Minerva what had happened. I am _so_ sorry."

"I need your help, Albus." He sighed. "I need to trace her." He took out the vial from his pocket, held it in front of him. Didn't flinch, somehow, managed not to shake as the red blood sloshed in it, glinting red in the light and yet he didn't vomit. "Lily was killed only two hours ago. With a spell. I need to trace the caster."

The old wizard in the portrait looked at him for a moment, silent. "You need the secret of the Deluminator."

"Yes."

The semi-sentient image of the long-dead sorcerer regarded him gravely from the portrait."I made that instrument, Harry. It took a decade of my life to do it. And the spell I set in case Ronald ever needed to find you – it needed all my skills, Harry. It took all that I had to give, and more. I could not move for a day after performing it, nor cast the simplest spells for a week afterward."

"You were weakened by the ring," He said.

"And so are you weakened. You have suffered through a far greater curse than I had, Harry." A portion of his mind marveled at the tone of concern, and a calmer man might've taken the time to speculate on the level of consciousness this particular portrait enjoyed. But he didn't have the time for that, nor the inclination.

"Not so weak, I think. And not as old as you were. Besides," He smiled bleakly, "this is something I _need_ to do. And I _never_ fail at things I need to do, Professor. The fact is that I _will_ attempt the tracing. What _you_ need to decide is if you will help me."

"Very well." Albus said softly. "Very well. You know the risks?"

"It's a blood tracing." He shrugged. "Dementia, possibly. Death." Minerva gasped behind him. He didn't pay any attention.

"You were never afraid of death, Harry." Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"There's a muggle saying, Albus." He shrugged again. "Death smiles at us all, someday. All a man can do is smile back."

* * *

The room was dark, but the flashes of blue hadn't subsided. The fading light, he knew, would be enough.

"_Frendo!"_ The figure shouted. His wand flashed, the dark purple Devastation curse rocketing towards Harry with a horrible screech. _"Milliopo!"_ He parried it even as his wand buckled under the strength of the dark curse. He didn't have much time, he reminded himself – his charm had blocked apparition for now, but it wouldn't last. He had to subdue this man, and do it _fast_.

He needed a barrage, something that wouldn't give the man any chance to think or retaliate.

Fortunately, he had been in this position before…

"_Tente! Tente! Morendo!"_ The bone-breaking curses hurled themselves on the shield the figure erected, blurring his features further to Harry's view. He closed the distance between them at a run, three metres, less –

"_Ventungo!"_ The curse sped by as he rolled under it, the spell itself invisible but still a rush of malevolent energy to his senses, and he stood up from the roll in one easy movement, a bone-melting curse on his lips. But his opponent has already shifted, and if he hadn't known any better he could've sworn that the man had apparated away –

"_Siagrus!"_

He had but a half-confused moment to ready himself, and then the spell struck the single window in the room. The wood started to _ripple_, creaking and cracking.

"_**ASTEMI!**_"

The golden shield snapped up in front of him, opaque and solid in half a moment, and the world exploded.

The wood shattered in a violent swirl of fragments, the bits heated up to almost boiling point by the power of the dark spell. The burning fragments rained on his shield, blurring the world in a shower of yellow-white sparks. He gritted his teeth and concentrated, pushing the shield further away by sheer power, then hissed out a word that _shaped_ the conjured metal, bowing it further. A jab, and the curved shield sped away, expanding and changing into a mass of moving air that took the bits of wood along with it. He was just in time to watch the figure diving through the hole in the wall that had replaced the window.

He followed, surrendering to gravity.

The figure twisted in midair, inhumanly graceful, a spell shooting out of his wand that he recognized as an _Arresto_. He didn't have the time for flare, and slashed his wand in a violent gesture as he fell, a blast of air that blew him closer to the man in the tenth of a second and they fell on the ground, their bodies hitting each other at a momentum that would have been crippling for others. But there was no pain that was greater than the pain that crept through his veins, and the broken right leg was only a minor inconvenience as he took the other figure by the throat.

Something flashed in the dark, a trail of fire that burned through his palm. He didn't relent. They were no longer in the room, and he could not allow the killer to apparate out even if it killed him.

"_Carnifico," _The man choked out, his wand perilously near Harry's neck as the silvery arc began to form. Harry took a hand off his throat, trying to pin the wand to the ground, struggling to keep his grip –

"_Plecto!"_

The curse pushed them apart, a violent whip of air that lifted and threw him back to the ground. He snarled wordlessly as someone shouted out a stunning spell, trying to bound up but failing as his right leg collapsed, and then the Crack of apparition tore through the night air. He turned his wand towards where the whipping spell had come, and saw Ron.

"You _cursed_ me." He couldn't believe it. "_You_ cursed me. I had him – "

"That was the _Carnifico_ curse," Ron was panting in exhaustion. "You wouldn't have your head right now if I hadn't done that. I tried to stun him, but he was fast. Too fast."

"The other one. The one you were dueling – "

"He's dead." Ron squatted down to examine his leg. "I had to kill him."

"I _told_ you. I told you to capture, not kill. I told you." He closed his eyes, trying to stop the flood of despair. "She wasn't here. This was just a temporary hideaway. And now they know they're being followed."

"Professionals. They are professionals – they would suspect what we did."

"After knowing I'm alive? Oh yes, they'll suspect. And they'd take protection against this. It'd take at least till morning for another ritual, and we'd need more of her blood." He said bitterly.

"Which will be hard – and I don't think you can go through that again, even if we could." Ron said with a worried look in his eyes.

"Yes. I know." He did. He had to be alive. He had to be, to rescue her. "DAMN IT!" He struck the earth with his fist. "There's nothing we can do."

"You need a healer," Ron said softly. "And Kingsley did say that the Aurors have some leads. Maybe something'll come up –"

"Now that they know I'm alive, they will hurry with whatever plan they have for her." He shook his head.

"And they'll make a mistake." Ron sad softly. "Don't worry so much, Harry. We'll get her back. Things will look better in the morning. We should go back to my place, in case some new information comes through. And Hermione can fix the leg up."

"Yeah. Yeah." He closed his eyes for a moment, then sat up. Ron helped him stand.

Together they vanished from the place, with a crack near-silent. Nothing moved around the decrepit house. The night kept its own secrets.

* * *

**Author's Note: **1. Only the _Confuto Apparatum_ is my own invention, most others come from Shezza88's infinite arsenal.

2. As you might've guessed, I'm just playing with the timeline a little. Chronologically speaking, the second section happens first, and then on. The first section happens just between the penultimate and the last section. Same in the previous chapter, and probably the next ones.

3. Decided to get rid of the quotes. They kinda fail.


End file.
